


Scarred

by soulmate328



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comfort Sex, Cultural Differences, Disfigurement, F/M, First Age, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Scars, The poetry sucks, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328
Summary: Caranthir and Haleth, and their awesome first night in Thargelion.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Scarred](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25727518) by [soulmate328](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328). 



> Because I'm not a native English speaker, the writing may not be that fluent or beautiful. Feel free to point out any mistake or give me any suggestion in the comments!

Piled beneath the walls of the Haladin's coarse fortress were hills of dead Orcs, some taken by arrows, some by rocks and boiling oil. It was in this place that Caranthir first laid eyes on Haleth, with a bow in her hand and an axe at her back, walking down the pile of dead towards Caranthir's horse. Her rags made a stark contrast to Caranthir's splendor; it was like a meeting between a prince and a monkey.

To describe Haleth as beautiful or hideous was meaningless. The right side of her face was a lump of scarred flesh, stretching from her right eye twisted into a ball of dark red flesh to the corner of her mouth, spreading little bloody scars all along the way like a river's branches. Her cheeks were hollow, a sign of missing teeth. Caranthir presumed it to be the result of an Orcish curved blade, too blunt to make a clean cut. Her dark hair was braided in the fashion of an Edain warrior; totems of beasts painted in blue pigment covered her skin, far from delicate but unique in their own way. On her forehead were the stripes of a tiger, around her nose the sharp beak and feathers of a hawk, on her cheeks the bared teeth of a forest wolf, on her arms the scales of a crocodile, and on her calves the paws of a grizzly bear. Caranthir saw that her left shoulder was a mess of healed bloody flesh, which he observed to be a badly tended old burn; her fingers had some festers from humidity as well. Her skin was tanned by the sun, scattered with wounds left by arrows and blades. The crimson blood that seeped from her cuts mingled with the blue pigment on her skin, creating an enchantment that made Caranthir unable to turn away his gaze.

"You are Caranthir, Lord of Thargelion?" She regarded him with her remaining green eye. Caranthir frowned - her voice had an unnatural hoarseness, like the sound of sandpapers rubbing on a surface. Haleth noticed his confusion and pointed at her throat. "Orc blood. They poisoned the water from upriver, so it's the only thing we could drink. Not enough to kill, but here it is."

The valor and determination earned Caranthir's respect. He politely inclined his head, "Lady Haleth, Leader of the Haladin. I am Caranthir, Lord of Thargelion."

"You helped. A lot."

The answer was clearly not "civilized" enough to Caranthir's standards, and had somehow belittled his role in the matter, since he practically saved the Haladin's lives. But there was earnest gratefulness in Haleth's "uncivilized" reply, and that hoarse voice had a wild charm in it, which made Caranthir more tolerant than his usual temper.

The dead lay scattered on the floor, while wails and cries filled their ears. He had learned that Haleth's father and brother had fallen even before he set out with his troops. He looked around at this miserable sight, and guilt welled up from his heart.

"The spawn of Morgoth are enemies of all that thrive in Endor, yet my rescue had come too late. You have my apologies, Lady Haleth."

"It's none of your concern," said Haleth. "We came here to live, not to bend our knees or receive protection from anyone. We swore no fealty to you and had never expected you to come. It's good to win, but if we lose, it only proves that I'm useless."

Caranthir's respect deepened, even though he still wasn't used to the crude words. "Your people need rest and healing. You may come to my house if you wish."

"If you say so. We'll just skip the formalities."

Noldorin riders flanked the Haladin's troops on their way to Caranthir's keep, with he and Haleth riding side by side at the front. Haleth wasn't hard to approach, but there was still a respectful distance in her attitude. Their conversations were mostly about the fight and the casualties, and all her replies had been short; except that Caranthir could feel her green eye scanning him up and down. It was a dark gaze from a person in grief, yet under the shadows, Caranthir sensed a wild and naked covetousness. That gaze traveled from his hair to his face, to his shoulders and his torso, to his long legs trapping the stallion beneath. It gave him the impression of a hunting carnivore crouched in the bushes, but Haleth was more restraint, more obscure.

"I grieve for your father and your brother, Lady Haleth," he said. "They are great warriors, both of them."

Haleth's eye darkened even more. She nodded and turned away without a word.

Seven days later, Caranthir held a feast for the Haladin in his keep. Haleth looked far better when she led the elders in her clan into the Great Hall, having shared their grief with her people, supposedly - it was too private a scene for Caranthir's eyes. She did not wear the clothes offered by the Noldor, but wrapped herself in wolfskin of white, grey and brown, simply cut but decent enough, with the bearing of a leader and that wildness Caranthir had found charming. Her only ornaments were a pair of bracelets of silver leaves, and the scar on her right cheek was covered with a piece of fine fabric gifted by Caranthir - black silk, with a golden eight-pointed star of Fëanáro on her right eye. Her dark long hair was washed and left loose on her back, with only a few slender braids on her temple to keep the little strands in place. This time the pigment on her skin was bright red, painted into the shape of armor, covering her bared arms and her body between the seams of her clothing.

"This is a feast of peace of friendship, Lady Haleth. Why choose such patterns to adorn yourself?" Caranthir asked out of pure curiosity. He had known Haleth enough in these days to understand that she wasn't offensive, though crude.

"My father told me that you're here to surround the fortress in the north, where all the Orcs come from."

"True. We guard our lands to hold the Siege of Angband."

"Then peace for you means strong, isn't it?"

Caranthir startled, and burst into laughter. "Yes, exactly!" The Lord's joy surprised the Noldor nearby - they haven't seen Caranthir laugh for quite some time, not to mention that he was renowned among the Fëanorians as the bad-tempered one.

That day they partied from afternoon to midnight. Caranthir shared his fine Noldorin wine, and Haleth returned with the Haladin's fermented milk, and they drank and talked nonsense in their cups. Caranthir introduced his relatives to Haleth one by one, making them the topics of jokes shamelessly. Mostly Haleth just listened, throwing out some short, rough comments from time to time that Caranthir considered quite incisive. When it came to the funny parts she smiled, baring her deliberately sharpened fangs. At this close distance, Caranthir realized that Haleth wasn't as young as he thought - there were thin lines at the corner of her eye, and her dark hair was mixed with faint traces of grey at the temples. As far as Caranthir knew about the Secondborn, Haleth was between the age of thirty and forty. Still at her prime, but leaning towards middle age.

That green eye hadn't left him much, with the same covetous gaze that was always there since they first met, hot and obscure. She looked at him sitting in his throne, at his hair, his jaw, his throat, his chest, his abdomen, between his legs; at the end of every round of her speculation, there was praise in her eye, as if its stare had pierced through his finery to observe directly his naked form. The golden star that replaced her right eye seemed to spark as well whenever she set her gaze on him. Caranthir started to understand the meaning of these behaviors - he was used to the chaste romance of the Eldar regarding women who fell for him, that he failed to immediately perceive the longing hidden behind her actions.

It was not that easy for Caranthir to understand. Love at first sight wasn't uncommon among the Eldar, but he sensed that the covetousness Haleth showed him had an entirely different nature. This did not match the Eldar's impression on love.

"Lady Haleth," having been stared at for too long, he said in displeasure. "You seem to be...interested, in me?"

The maids around them covered up their laughter with long sleeves. Haleth's eye switched between them and Caranthir, confusion forming on her face.

"Don't your women like pretty men?" She asked him with that hoarse voice of hers.

The maids' smiles turned into blushes. Such crude words were a little too explicit for the Eldar. Caranthir felt his own cheeks heating - he wasn't unfamiliar with praise for beauty (it was far too common for the Fëanorians), but Haleth's praise gave him the impression of praising a male beast.

"This...is in fact, an interesting question." He put up a solemn face and started to babble, almost in disguise of his blush. "Certainly all the Eldar possess a love for beauty, but the 'like' you just mentioned clearly has the meaning of love...from this perspective, although we appreciate the beauty of our kin, most of the time we do not fall in love just because of it..."

"No, it's not what I mean," Haleth interrupted. "I'm not talking about love. What I meant was, don't your women like to sleep with pretty men?"

Caranthir realized only at this moment, that his impression had been correct. Haleth was praising him like praising a male beast: how glossy was his fur, how large was his size, how delicate was his horns, how attractive he was to the females. For a moment he thought he had turned into the wolfskin on Haleth's body, wrapping around the sunburnt skin covered in bright red totems. His cheeks became even hotter.

"Lady Haleth," he ignored the heat and made his voice as unfriendly as possible. The Fëanorians did not like being overwhelmed in speech. "I understand that the customs of the Edain have differences with the Eldar, therefore I shall remind you instead of scolding you: do not say such words ever again."

"Alright, my apologies," Haleth nodded. "But I've asked anyway, do you care to answer?"

Caranthir coughed and shifted in his chair. He suddenly thought that if Haleth could so easily accept his reminder, then he should show the same open-mindedness as well.

"To the Eldar, sex is basically equal to marriage. We have sex with no one besides our partners."

Haleth considered for a moment. "Then can I say that sleeping together is the same as getting married?"

"Yes, in the Eldar's nature. It is part of the wedding."

"What if you're raped? Must you marry the one that raped you?"

"We do not force others into marrying us, Lady Haleth," Caranthir replied austerely.

"So you don't have sex before you get married?"

"Normally, no."

"Then how do you know what to do when that day comes?"

This conversation was slipping out of Caranthir's control. It didn't make him very happy. He shifted in his chair again.

"Our elders will give us some...advice in private."

"But you can't teach these things just by saying. What if you hurt each other?"

"At least I haven't heard any such accidents among my kin."

"Oh," Haleth tilted her head. "Is that so."

Caranthir didn't know what Haleth had understood, but looking at her face, he tended to believe that she simply accepted his words. Haleth gave him a strange sense of purity - not simple-minded, but she was rarely in fierce opposition to anything, no matter it was the death of her family, the failure of her people, or the customs of the Eldar. She had never found any of this unacceptable or intolerable, like an animal that changed its way of survival along with the shifting environment. This purity became the source of both her pride and her friendliness. As a child of Eru blessed with the gift of creating civilization, her nature was closer to that of beasts. Perhaps it was because the Secondborn was still a young people, thought Caranthir. The first group of Quendi that awoke beneath the stars wasn't so "civilized" in the eyes of the Eldar now, either.

Music and songs came from outside, none of which produced by Noldorin instruments and singers. Haleth stood. "Looks like they're getting some real feast out there. You wish to join us?"

Strong curiosity rose within Caranthir, mixed with a tinge of fear for the unknown. He breathed in a deep breath, and smiled. "Of course."

The Haladin formed a circle around the fire, singing and dancing. It was a wild way of feasting even in the eyes of the passionate Noldor; many of them were looking a little frightened. The lutes of the Haladin sounded crisper than the Noldorin harps, the drums were wilder, and the songs had roars and howls like those of an ape. Haleth leapt onto the stage, dancing like a preying beast while singing to the beat of the music with her hoarse voice:

_The monsters came sprinting from the moor_

_They clashed their curving blade at our door_

_Don't get drowsy, don't lie down, we're at war_

_Friend, good morning!_

_Hey, good morning!_

_Good morning! Good morning!_

_The Easterners took your wife_

_Their skulls my axe will open wide_

_Ha! I'll wed your precious bride_

_Friend, hear my greeting!_

_Wake up! Good morning!_

_Good morning! Good morning!_

_Brave Haldad, why do you sleep? Why do you fall?_

_I shall not sleep, I shall not fall_

_I say to you all, I will stand tall_

_Friend, good morning!_

_Hey, good morning!_

_Good morning! Good morning!_ *

Haleth sang in the Haladin's tongue, a dialect that bore a resemblance to Sindarin, but strong and rough like the forest and the earth. Her special voice sounded almost like the roars of animals, and on her body the softness of wolfskin created a fascinating contrast with the solidity of armor-like totems. Beads of sweat streamed down her dark skin, her clothes hanging loose from the wild moves, baring half of her breasts that shook every time she threw her head or twisted her hips. Everything had a strange and barbaric beauty in Caranthir's eys. No elven maid clutch their hands into claws or spread their legs crouching when they dance, and no party songs of the Eldar had lines regarding the cracking of skulls. His kinsmen around him were expressing the terror caused by the song and dance in low voice, and to be honest, Caranthir himself was a little frightened as well; but at the heels of fear came the speeding heartbeat, and excitement crept into his veins. Perhaps this was the true nature of the Sons of Fëanor.

Haleth stared. Not always staring, but her green eye would fix on him for five seconds and move away for three seconds, and again set on him for five seconds, over and over again. Her limbs would swing from time to time in Caranthir's direction, her teeth bared like a big laugh, or possibly a display of her pointed fangs.

"Your Highness," one of his advisers said to him. "It seems that Lady Haleth is trying to express something to you."

Recalling their conversation, Caranthir felt that he knew what she was trying to express, only that he was afraid to realize it.

When the feast continued to midnight, both Elves and Men were thoroughly drunk. Driven by the dizziness, Caranthir danced for some rounds hand in hand with the Haladin, and even made some of their howls, though his imitation sounded like a timid youth. Together with Haleth he ripped off cooked meat from the roasted boar, eating it with honey, and washed it down with horse milk and wine in turn. Haleth licked her burnt fingers when she finished, tilted up her head to gave him a symbolic teeth-baring smile. Caranthir saw on her teeth a trace of blood left by half-raw meat.

Haleth's gaze was truly fixed on him when the feast drew to an end. She reached out a hand to touch his dark hair - before doing so she even remembered to wash her hands, though Caranthir could still smell the roasted meat and the blood on her fingers - wove a strand on her finger and pressed it to her nose. Caranthir wasn't sure how to react - not that he was a virgin, but indeed he didn't have the experience to do such a thing with a woman he met only days ago, driven by alcohol. But somehow he did not stop her, allowing her to smell his fragrant hair, put her hands on his shoulder to drew herself closer for a kiss on his Adam's apple. The people around them were drunk enough, but there were still some Noldoli awake, and all stared at them in horror upon seeing this.

"Are you married, my Lord?" She asked, looking at him with a hazy eye as if only noticing the problem now.

"I've been married before. But we were...parted." By the sea.

"If you don't want it, I won't touch you again," Haleth continued. "I want to sleep with you, my Lord. Without the marriage part. Will you come with me?"

Caranthir breathed in shallow breaths, his brows furrowed, and a war went on in his mind. This woman knew nothing about him. She only knew him to be Caranthir (his damn Sindarin name), while he should've been called Morifinwë, or Carnistir. She knew nothing of his loneliness of departing from his wife, nor the pain of losing a father - no, this at least she knew - nor his absolute determination in fulfilling the Oath, nor the source of his disgust for the Sindar, for his golden-haired cousins, and everything that took place in Middle-Earth. She adapted her habitats like a beast, accepting all failures and deaths, and giving out such invitations for nothing but desire for beauty on the surface. Caranthir's arrogance had never affected her; she still went with her own way, acknowledging everything but holding on to her own beliefs, unlike him, who had to cope with everything he disliked for the Oath, yet unable to truly accept anything at all. She was simply bolder than the elven maidens who pursued him - no, she wasn't pursuing him, she was just coveting him, and only his body, not any of his goodness on the inside.

But perhaps this was exactly what he needed. A man and a woman, with no reason or explanation, no pride or hate, unrelated to personalities or behaviors. Just two souls who had seen the world collapsed, inviting each other in the grip of sudden desire, in hopes for a moment of escape from the cold, cruel reality.

"Lead on."

Haleth had heard from her mother's lips about the first encounter of Men and Elves. When the House of Bëor slumbered in the woods, golden Felagund came among them in silence, picked up a harp, and play an elvish song. She had barely seen Elves before she met Caranthir, so it was not easy to catch the atmosphere in the story, but she could understand the dreamy amazement now.

She took his hand and led him to her chamber. Caranthir was a head taller than her, the level of her eyes could only reach his shoulder. Even in the darkness, there seemed to be a light flowing on his face and in his eyes, so that she could recognize his features without difficulties. A slender golden circlet was set upon his brow, his hair darker than the night, his skin pale, his nose hard and proud, his lips red and full. Those brows were the wings of an eagle, yet always furrowed, combined with the anger that somehow had never truly left his face. His shoulders were wide, his strong form clad in a dark robe with golden linings, and on the middle finger of his left hand was a golden ring with a ruby the size of a fingernail. Haleth reached out to touch his sleeves, and found that the fabric could flow from her finger like water.

It was hard to describe how she felt when she first set her gaze on Caranthir. She struggled up from a pile of mud and blood, laid her eyes on that tall elf astride a beautiful stallion, clad in armor amazingly delicate, with light flowing on his raiments. Her first thought was that she had seen a god. That moment, the despair of loss and the misery of losing family departed from her, and she fell into an enchantment, with all her attention focused on nothing but Caranthir.

But Caranthir was no god. He was real, and so was the richness and plenty that the Haladin were enjoying at the very moment. That was why Haleth had brought him to her chamber, disregarding all consequences. She was in paradise, but she would have to leave someday, so she must seize this chance to share a night with this beautiful creature. When she returned on the road, the drunken euphoria brought by his ethereal beauty would fade like morning mists, and she would recall the horror of seeing her father and brother lying dead, and would have to pick up her axe to battle the Orcs in humid forests once again.

Caranthir's fingers, though calloused, were slender and elegant. They seemed to be forged by silver compared to her hands covered in scars caused by joint diseases - but instead of unlike the cold metal, they were warm. In fact, his whole being was radiating heat in the night, as if there was a fire burning within him. Haleth had the feeling that this would be a wonderful night.

Haleth locked the door when they came to her chamber, and Caranthir lit some candles, suggesting politely and stiffly that she use the bathroom first. He must still be coping with the concept of "we're sleeping but we're not getting married." Haleth couldn't help but pity them - not having sex before marriage, willingly! The joy and choices they must have missed in their incredibly long life. But since no one forced them, they must have their own reasons as well.

Elven baths are all running water. The bathroom faced Helevorn on one side, the silvery moonlight shimmering on the lake. She stripped down the sweat-soaked clothing, and first shaved off all the hair in her armpits and between her legs. Then she washed her sweaty hair and scraped off the red pigment on her skin with the fragrant soap. When she was done she dried her body, regarding herself critically in the mirror.

"Oh, no," she murmured. "This won't do. Absolutely not."

Besides the scar on her right cheek, she had a huge burn that spread from her left shoulder to her breast and waist, and almost covered all parts of her upper arm. A few years ago, in a fight with Orcs, she protected her nephew from a bucket of hot oil; if she had failed to hold up the shield in her left hand, the burn would have covered her face instead of one side of her body. The mangled scar on her cheek, the twisted breast, and the mess of a shoulder made her look like some monster. Without the disguise and decoration of pigments, she was no more than a common, dark, small, and disfigured woman, who had long passed the age that could be called young.

No, she would not sleep with Caranthir like this. He shouldn't even see her like this whatsoever.

Thinking quickly, Haleth opened the cabinet and found the pigments she wanted. She painted golden feathers on her burn, while with silver, grey and white she created a metallic gleam on her right cheek, and at last with charcoal, she drew a closed eye and some flowers on her brow, so that her right face seemed to be covered by a fine silver mask. When she was finished she washed her hands, combed her hair, giving herself a last check in the mirror. Only then did she open the bathroom door and stepped into the chamber naked.

Caranthir was looking outside the window. He turned when he heard the door, and his eyes widened the moment they were laid on Haleth, his lips parted in shock.

"It's your turn," Haleth felt her heart beating franticly in excitement and anticipation. "Take your time. This won't dry in quite a while."

The handsome elf nodded in a daze. It seemed that he wasn't sure where to put his eyes; the burning gaze lingered on her face and breasts, but dared not went further down. He strode into the bathroom, in a manner that almost looked like escaping. Haleth took a deep breath. She tried to sit on the bed, but she was too excited to do so; so she stood by the window as Caranthir just did, appreciating the stars that the Haladin could rarely see in their squat houses under the screen of canopies.

Minutes later - or ages, it was hard to tell the time - Caranthir stepped out as well. Haleth turned, and saw that he was as naked as her, muscles in perfect shape, all slender and pale and hairless even in the most secret parts; that skin, besides the little scars from battle, was smoother than any woman she had ever seen. His damp hair wore loose on his back, with a few strands on his chest, a fascinating contrast with his pale skin. His cheeks were flushed, but his brows were still furrowed, but not so angry as before when he looked as if someone had owed him something.

Haleth changed her mind. Caranthir is a god - there's nothing to say about that.

She approached him in small steps, reaching out to touch his hips, his waist, his abdomen. She laid a kiss on Caranthir's left nipple, a wet kiss that made Caranthir go stiff. He looked down at her with disbelief in his eyes, as if he was looking at a Goblin.

Haleth led him to the bed, pushed him into the sheets, and crawled up beside him from his feet.

Caranthir's naked form seemed to be glowing in the dimness of the room. Haleth held up his ankle, bent down to kiss the arch of his foot, touched it softly with her tongue like the way a dragonfly would touch the surface of the water. She kissed all the way from his knee to his inner thigh, her mouth lingering at the place where his leg and his body met. She licked and scraped the sensitive skin with her teeth, and heard deeper breaths from above her head. She crawled up to his torso, took a nipple between her lips, rubbing it with her tongue, making Caranthir's breaths quicken. She did the same thing on the other side, and not until Caranthir was flushed all over and suppressing his moans did she reluctantly let him go.

Haleth could feel Caranthir's cock rubbing at her thigh, hard and hot. She looked at his eyes dazed with lust, and decided in a very short time. She lowered her body, and took his cock into her mouth.

The moment her tongue touched the tip, Caranthir gasped and grabbed her hair to pull her away. Haleth gazed at his almost frightened face. "You don't want it?" she asked. "I'll be careful."

Caranthir's brows were distorted now. He pursed his lips and ground his teeth, but eventually he let go.

"You can keep doing that," said Haleth. "I like it."

Caranthir looked even redder. He didn't do it at first, but when Haleth's mouth touched his cock again, he breathed deeply in the cold air and thrust his fingers into her hair.

He had a pleasant smell of male hormone mixed with a floral scent. She dared say that he was cleaner than most women of the Haladin, and that was why she was willing to do this. She swept her tongue up and down his length, swallowing it inch by inch while keeping her fangs from hurting him; but sometimes when Caranthir produced those high-pitched moans she could be carried away, and would scrape her teeth unexpectedly on his seeping slit, just to hear him scream and shudder in choking joy. She swallowed until her nose touched the smooth skin in his loins, then she closed her throat to wrap her mouth tightly around him. Caranthir's chest heaved, his moans rose like waves of ocean tide; the fingers in Haleth's hair clutched harder, the pain in her scalp excited her even more. At last, Haleth gave a swipe of her tongue, and Caranthir let out a shout like the ones made when receiving a mortal wound in battle, releasing himself inside her mouth.

Haleth swallowed his seed, finding the taste unexpectedly not very difficult to endure. She licked her lips clean and tilted up her head, as Caranthir panted on the bed with the back of his hand on his forehead, flushed from head to toe. Haleth kept herself from touching him - men after climax were always sensitive, she assumed elves were the same - and waited for him to come back to his senses. "You can keep going?"

Caranthir cast her a glance of complicated feelings. At last, he nodded. "A moment."

"Alright," Haleth bent down and kissed his lips for the very first time. She slid her tongue between his teeth to mangle it with his, spreading the taste of semen and sweat in their mouths. Caranthir pressed down on the back of her head to deepen this kiss, the hot stimulation of his breaths send her hands creeping down between her legs - she gasped by the lightest touch on the clit, her cunt as wet as Lake Helevorn outside the window.

Noticing her moves, Caranthir took hold of her waist and lay her down on the bed, hovering above like a panther. There was finally some concentration in his eyes, which increased Haleth's excitement and anticipation. He kissed the silver mask on her right cheek, lips trailing down her neck to caress the golden feather on her left shoulder. His hair and breaths tickled her. She threw her arms around his broad shoulders, burying her face in that flowing darkness and sliding her hands down the elegant spine, searching for every wound to measure their lengths and shapes with her fingers. Caranthir lay his kiss on every golden feather on her shoulder and arm, until at last his lips came to her mangled left breast, sucking it in his mouth. Luckily the Haladin's pigments were harmless, Haleth thought while exhaling in lust. But she did hope he wouldn't lick them off. Tonight, she wouldn't have the god on her body see any part of her that was deformed.

Finally, Caranthir's lips slid down her stomach to land a kiss on the wet slit between her legs. Haleth groaned in satisfaction, patting his head to let Caranthir continue licking her cunt. A hot flow welled up deep inside her stomach, oozing from her clit as her body spread and closed, lapped away by Caranthir's tongue. She moaned and gasped with half-lidded eyes, and when she was thoroughly opened by the teasing Caranthir supported himself up, aligning their hips. His cock was hard again, rubbing at her sensitive entrance in boiling heat.

"I'm coming inside," said Caranthir. Haleth wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms circling his neck.

Caranthir pushed forward his hips, entering her without much hindrance. Haleth drawled a long hum the girth filled her hole hotly, satisfied yet desiring more. Caranthir moved in slow and steady motions, his forehead covered in beads of sweat; every time he almost completely drew out, and pierced back inside all the way to the end. Haleth exhaled with every retreat and sighed with every thurst, her hips meeting his movements so that his cock touched her sweet spot precisely every time.

"Hmmm...my Lord," her hands trailed to his buttocks and squeezed. "You're delicious."

Caranthir's breaths stilled for a moment, and again came the terrified gaze, but his movements gradually quickened and increased in strength. Her senses flew out of the window under those forceful strikes, she met his thrusts and closed her legs tight around him, her cunt sucking the cock inside like a hungry mouth. Caranthir's deep sweet moans to her rasping growls were like the sounds of a cello to the barks of a bitch in heat. Caranthir moved intently with her hips in his iron grip, his brows clenched in a mix of pain and pleasure, and every thrust satisfied a little of Haleth's itch on the inside.

"Oh...oh! Ca...Caranthir..." for the first time she screamed his name without the following titles. "You're good...yes, good, ohh...I...I'm..."

She sensed the itch growing to its limit, and her walls were clutching down at a maddening pace. Caranthir apparently had better stamina, breathing long and deep while pushing her to climax in steady motions. His muscles bulged and shifted as he moved, beads of sweat trailed down the lines of his body and disappeared in the place where they were joined, mingled with all types of bodily fluids.

"Oh...! Elbereth...Gilthoniel!"

In an instant, she froze and came with him deep inside her. Caranthir gave out a pained cry at her sudden clench, his lips crashing on her and his tongue pierced by her fangs, spreading the rusty taste of blood in their mouths, but right now more erotic as anything else.

Haleth missed her count of time in their coupling. She felt that it wasn't until she had come three times, with her limbs and back were all sore and hurting - she was no young woman after all - did Caranthir threw back his head shivering and came within her after a few quick strikes and a low drawing moan. His seed felt like a gush of molten iron; she could even picture her womb ignited by the liquid metal. Moonlight framed Caranthir's features in the grip of lust, freely displayed for her enraptured stare.

When the joyous tide receded, he drew out of her slowly to collapse on his back, chest heaving. Haleth put her head on his shoulder with half-lidded eyes, placing a soft kiss on his lips when he came out of his daze.

She didn't plan to make the offer, but Caranthir was so delicious that Haleth had to change her mind. And so she reached behind his back.

"I want to fuck you," her fingers slid down his tailbone towards his hole. "Here. May I?"

Again came the terrified look, but this time his face was softened by lust and lost some of the horrible fire in previous times.

"May I, my Lord?" Haleth asked again, hoping that she was serious enough.

Caranthir nodded almost numbly. Instinct led him to make his decision, while in fact, he had no idea how this works or whether he truly wanted it. At his agreement, Haleth sat up and grabbed the bottle of oil on the beside, originally used to cure the illness of her hands. The pigments on her skin were a little blurred by sweat, but in Caranthir's hazy vision there wasn't much difference. Haleth might be a warrior, but she was as good as any woman in making herself beautiful, in the Haladin's unique way. And she certainly knew very well what drove out the lust of men, or males. Caranthir was thousands of years older than her, but still, Haleth was the one who had more experience in this matter.

"Turn around," Haleth instructed him while she poured the oil on her hand. "On your hands."

Caranthir obeyed, baring the most secret parts of himself in front of her, and felt his face boiling in shame. He was truly "uncivilized" now, behaving like an animal in heat. Haleth landed a kiss on his spine. "Don't touch yourself. I'll make it very good, I promise."

Don't touch yourself? Caranthir's mind was blank. Then what should he do?

Soon he felt his hole breached by a slender object, shoving open his walls to reach deeper inside. It was Haleth's finger. The oil had slicked it as much as possible, but still, Caranthir felt a slight burn. Haleth pushed the finger all the way in, only stopping for a moment when he hummed in displeasure.

Her fingers moved in and out of him, just like the way he fucked her a while ago. The shame of being breached hardened his cock, and the burn retreated to be replaced by an intoxicating itch. Haleth's finger searched within him, until she touched a spot that made pleasure explode in Caranthir's head. He contracted his hole and arched his back, as a high-pitched scream unlike the ones made by men came out of his throat.

"It's alright, it's alright," Haleth soothed him while she stroked his hair. "It's good, isn't it?"

Caranthir knew not how to respond, nor did he wish to. Every word Haleth had said since they entered this room made him boil. They were crude words with not even a tinge of elegance - they would've been more romantic if spoken by any Elf - but they aroused and shamed him every time she said them. He was the son of the Spirit of Fire, the one to rouse and stir anything he wished in the hearts of men. But Haleth was a Secondborn, one of Anar's folk. He could rouse fires in hearts, while she could directly scorch the skin.

Haleth added another finger, increasing the speed while hitting that sweet spot in every thrust. Caranthir felt himself meeting her movements, and the sounds he made had changed as well. They were more helpless, with a faint sobbing tone - was he truly close to weeping?

"Breathe," Haleth stroked his back. "Shout whatever you want, or you won't feel well."

Caranthir breathed as much as he could, but still, he felt himself choking on pleasure. Haleth added one more finger and fucked him wildly, opening him up to an unbelievable extent. The joy spread to his legs and waist with every thrust, a sensation completely different from that of coupling with a female. His body was numb and his knees were shaking, his cock dripped but not enough to come. Finally, he could bear it no more, and he begged.

"No, no, please...let me come...ohhh, let me come!"

"A little longer," Haleth scraped her teeth across the tip of his ear. "Just a little longer."

"No...! It's too much, Haleth..." He wanted to stroke himself to climax then and there, but somehow he obeyed her command of 'don't touch yourself' as he reached between his legs, still his hand. "Ohhhh Haleth! I can't..."

"You can, my Lord. You did a splendid job," Haleth thrusted even faster. "It's alright, it'll soon be over..."

Caranthir was truly sobbing now. His whole body was twitching as he wept and begged incoherently: please, let me come, no, please stop, and other words he didn't wish to recall. When he even lost the strength to beg, Haleth grabbed hold of his cock and gave him a few rough strokes, and he came in her hand with his mind wiped blank.

He lay on his stomach, panting like a fish without water. The sheets rubbed at his oversensitive spots, but he had no strength left to move even an inch. He watched as Haleth lay down beside him, his mind wiped blank again as she licked her fingers clean.

They rest quietly for a while, and Haleth was the first to make for the bathroom. Caranthir followed her into the hot bath, cleaning his body and hair with soap. Haleth raised an arm to cover her breasts as the pigments were washed away.

"You better turn around, my Lord," she said. "There's nothing pretty to look at."

Caranthir stopped his motions to consider. Despite the paint, he had felt her disfigurement during the sex. Should he avoid the sight? He had no discrimination for the wounded, but perhaps Haleth didn't want him to see it.

"No," at last, he decided. "There's nothing to be feared."

Haleth said no more, and let the currents stripped off her disguise. The scar was undeniably hideous, and it had a different nature compared to Maitimo's stump. While his brother's wound was a deficiency, Haleth's scar was a deformity. She splashed the water on her face to wash off the paint there as well, exposing the scar on her right cheek. The combination of the scar and the burn made her looked like a walking corpse.

But Caranthir knew she wasn't. Whenever she stared at him with her remaining green eye, he could sense clearly the life radiating from her body, showing that although disfigured, she would spend the rest of her days with hope and passion in her heart.

"I was lucky," said Haleth.

"Yes," Caranthir replied. "I've seen similar wounds on my father. He was attacked by the claws and whips of Balrogs, and didn't make it in the end. I almost couldn't recognize him in that short time before his death. It was like he was pulled from a furnace."

Caranthir had revisited the horrid sight in his nightmares frequently, in the many years after Fëanor's death. His armor was fused into his flesh by the flames, the silken dark hair twisted into a pile of dry withered grass, his limbs and features and bones all melted and deformed. He could still hear his father's screams echoing in the valley, his last desperate stare at the peaks of Thangorodrim, the black smoke that rose from within his throat as he forced them to say their Oath again. Caranthir had a resemblance to his father; not as strong as Atarinkë, but anyone could recognize him as Fëanáro's son. Sometimes his father's face in his dream would turn into his own, twisted and blackened by the Balrogs' flames, or that the one rescued from Thangorodrim was himself instead of Maitimo, covered in scars left by Morgoth's gaolers, stripped of both hands tainted by the blood of his kin.

"You will see your father again," said Haleth.

Caranthir scoffed. "How can you be so sure?" She knew nothing of Mandos and his Halls, nor of the fact that his father will be trapped there until the end of the world.

"We will die, all of us," she said. "You'll see him when you die."

"The Eldar has the same span of days as the world."

"There's a long time before the end of the world. Even if that fortress in the north is destroyed, peace won't just last until then. All of us will die at least once before the doom comes, no matter how long we should've lived."

"The so-called 'Arda Marred?'" he murmured to himself. The wisdom hidden beneath Haleth's crudeness surprised him yet again.

"But of course, you should focus on the living," Haleth added. "You still have many relatives. If you're lucky you'll meet another good woman, have some children with her."

"I do not think so. And you? Do you plan to marry?"

"I'm not in a haste. I will if I find someone suitable, if not, my brother left a son. He'll be in charge when I'm gone."

'When I'm gone.' Death was so common to them, and heritage so natural, while for the Eldar the succession of crown often suggested the worst of tragedies. Caranthir suddenly recalled the Curse they heard on the shores of Valinor, about the Secondborn's flourish and the Firstborn's certain wane, and somehow managed to understand - even though he still hated all the Valar. The life of the Eldar was far too perfect, and thus unable to fit in this marred world. In Middle-Earth they're longer-lived than stones and trees and cities and realms; they could witness the rivers run dry and the constellations shift in the heavens, and still endured. But Men die as everything would perish, and produce new lives, over and over again. The Secondborn were more in accord with the rules of nature, more similar to this Arda Marred.

But the Noldor could not turn back. They carried their scars to Middle-Earth, gain even more as they lived on, and will fade away at last. If this must be their fate, it's only fitting to the rules of this world. Caranthir only understood this after he met Haleth, and learnt the logic of the Secondborn.

"When you die, you will depart from Arda and reunite with your father and brother," said Caranthir. "You will be with them ever after, until time ends and Arda proceeds into the next Theme."

"Ever after? Are you sure? How do you know?"

"It's the wisdom of...the gods," he used this inaccurate term invented by Men, for he didn't wish to say the word 'Valar.' "You have no need to doubt, Haleth."

Haleth nodded, her eyes turned to fix on the water, her thoughts concealed from Caranthir's perception.

They talked about the universe and the world for a while in the bathroom, as people would often do after having sex. When at last they dried their bodies and returned to the room, Haleth slid on a robe to cover up her damaged parts. Caranthir's attitude was far better than she imagined, but still, she wanted it hidden as much as possible. She changed the sheets with Caranthir, opened the window to let the fresh air in, and even used the fragrant elven spray in the room. When she was done she turned to Caranthir. "You staying for the night?"

"No, I do not think so. I have matters to tend to in the early morn," Caranthir said awkwardly as he got dressed.

"Fair enough. Good night, Prince Caranthir," she had learned that Caranthir was a prince in these days.

Caranthir looked at her solemnly. "Carnistir."

"What?"

"My name is Carnistir, Lady Haleth."

"What's Caranthir, then?"

"That is my name translated into Sindarin. In my mother tongue, my name should be Carnistir."

"Oh." In fact, Haleth was quite fond of Caranthir, but she supposed that anyone would like to be called with their right name. "Well then. Good night, Prince Carnistir."

"Good night, Lady Haleth."

When Caranthir was gone, she leapt into her soft bed, feeling cozy and satisfied. She found herself considering a second night with him. Would that be too much to ask? With the thought in mind, Haleth fell into the grasp of sweet dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> *The lyrics are inspired by The Song of the Sword-Dancer in the video game The Witcher 3. I must admit that I have absolutely no idea what the original lyrics mean. There are translations in the app I use, but it's put up there by some random guy which made the accuracy questionable. However I thought I should still share where my inspiration comes from.


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